


Unexpected Circumstances

by Skylar_Lois



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob/Mafia/Organized Crime, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 11:21:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2579699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylar_Lois/pseuds/Skylar_Lois
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Children of rival mob bosses are forced into an arranged marriage in order to save the people they love. Resigned to a life of misery, Oliver goes through with the marriage only to find that Felicity is nothing like he expected. Maybe—just maybe—going forward isn't going to be such an ordeal after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The two rival mob bosses circle each other, one looking extremely confident, almost bordering on cocky while the other stares warily. 

"You have a lot of guts showing up here," Noah says, tightening his grip on his colt.

Robert Queen cocks his head in amusement. "Was that supposed to come off as intimidating?" he says, calling him out on his false bravado.

Noah only just manages not to react. He's well aware that Robert has the upper hand in this situation.

"I have a proposition for you," the other man says cordially. 

Noah continues to eye him warily but doesn't speak.

"Aren't you going to ask me what it is?" Robert demands, tapping his foot impatiently.

Noah snorts. "You're going to tell me what it is anyway."

The other man scowls childishly, not happy that the conversation isn't going the way he planned. "An alliance between our gangs. There has been far too much blood spilled unnecessarily and it's time we set aside our differences, don't you think? Our feud has gone on for way too long. This city is big enough for both of us."

Noah scoffs. "I'm supposed to believe you actually want an alliance and won't stab me in the back? How gullible do you think I am?"

"On the contrary, I don't think you're gullible at all—just not as smart as you like to think you are."

The control Noah was struggling to hold on to snaps. He flicks off the safety and raises his colt in one swift movement, his finger itching to pull the trigger, the consequences be damned.

Robert doesn't even bat an eyelash at the action, but his men are quick to respond, raising their firearms in retaliation, provoking Noah's men to do the same. "The thing is," he continues unperturbed, as if he doesn't have seven guns aiming at him, " _I_  know that I wouldn't betray our alliance. The question, therefore, is how do I ensure  _you_  will do the same?"

The man in question takes a moment to compose himself before lowering the gun. He doesn't turn the safety back on, however. "Stop playing games and just spit it out, Queen."

"Your daughter. She's a pretty little thing, isn't she?"

Noah's hand twitches. "Leave her out of this," he says through gritted teeth. "She has no ties to the mafia."

"That's of no concern to me. Her hand in marriage or the deaths of your entire gang."

Noah actually gasps. "Marriage?  _To you?_ " he says incredulously. "This is absurd. You already have a wife! If a mistress is what you want, there are many more suitable options in the female population of Starling City than my daughter."

Robert rolls his eyes. "Not to  _me_! My son. It's time—"

"Your son wants a mistress?"

Robert nearly tugs at his hair in exasperation. "For God's sake, my son needs a  _wife_. It's time he settled down, and with a proper woman of Italian descent. What better way to kill two birds with one stone?"

"Indeed," Noah says sarcastically. "However, there's just one problem. The last I heard, your son was about to tie the knot with the daughter of a cop."

"That problem has been resolved," Robert replies coolly. 

There's a period of silence while options are considered.

"Your daughter's life for the lives of five hundred. The choice is obvious," Robert says. "If you're thinking about putting a bullet in my head, however, I highly suggest you consider. We both know that I can plug a bullet through your skull before you can even pull the trigger."

Noah meets his gaze but doesn't reply. He doesn't have to. The answer is written all over his face.

"Excellent," Robert says, beaming at the way things turned out. "I look forward to seeing you again."


	2. Chapter 1

The doorbell rings. Thrice.

Felicity Smoak gets up from her desk in the study, her eyes never leaving the computer screen. She raises a hand to press a button on the communicator in her ear. "Diggle, three of my father's men are headed your way from the north entrance. The prisoners are directly above you. Take the staircase on your right. It's the nearest."

"Copy that," he replies.

"I'll be right back in just a second. My pizza's here," she says, minimizing the screen and heading out of the study, picking up the twenty she left on the coffee table earlier on the way to the door.

She pulls it open, a 'thank you' at the tip of her tongue—

—that gets lost when she recognizes the man standing behind the door. She blinks in surprise and frowns. "You're not the pizza guy."

Noah shoves a large Domino's pizza box into her hands and plucks the twenty from her fingers, pocketing it. "No, I'm most certainly not."

She laughs nervously. "What happened with him?"

He arches a brow. "What do you think happened?"

"He got onto his bike and left with the money for this extra large bacon and peperoni pizza with extra pickles?" she says hopefully.

He grunts in response and taps his foot impatiently when Felicity doesn't do anything after several moments.

 _Oh crap_.

She steps away from the door reluctantly. "Would you like to come in?"

Noah pushes past her and plops down onto her grey leather couch.

"Okay, then," she mumbles to herself, pressing her lips together and shutting the door. She sets the pizza down on the coffee table just as a series of gunshots erupt from the communicator. She gasps, startled. It doesn't go unnoticed by her father.

"Are you talking to someone?" he asks, gesturing at the earpiece.

Like a deer in headlights, she sputters incoherently for a couple of seconds before she composes herself. "No." She shakes her head. "I mean, yes, I was talking to someone right before you showed up. He's not saying anything right now, though, so I guess I'm not talking to anyone right now. Apart from you, I mean."

He cocks his head. "Boyfriend?"

"No!" she says hastily and he raises an eyebrow. "No, no, he's _not_ a boyfriend. He's a boy who happens to be my friend, so I suppose you could call him my boy friend, but we're not in a relationship. Please excuse me for just a second."

Without waiting for a reply, she bolts from the living room and locks herself in the study.

"Diggle?" she whispers, not wanting to be overheard. "Are you okay?" She pulls up the feed from the warehouse where her father's gun shipments into Starling are usually stored before they get traded in the black market. This time however, the shipments are people. Not uncommon where her father's operations are concerned. She taps a key on the keyboard, bringing the camera feed of the warehouse back to the foreground of the screen.

"Yes, I'm fine," he answers just as she locates him. He is busy getting everyone into the back of a van.

"We may have a problem."

"So I've heard."

"Do you think he knows about us?" She doesn't need to see his expression through the feed to know that his eyebrows are raised. "And by 'us' I mean how we occupy ourselves on nights like this one."

His brows disappear into his hairline.

She lets out an exasperated noise. "You know what I mean. My brain doesn't always think of the best way to say things."

He snorts. "That's an understatement." He grows serious. "There is always a chance that he knows. What do you plan to do?"

"Hope for the best and pray that I won't need to run from my own father?"

"Don't give yourself away. He might be there for something else. I'll come and get you as soon as I drop them off at Lance's."

"No. I'll let you know if I need you. Great work today, John."

"I'll call you in twenty. If you don't answer, that's my cue," he insists.

Felicity sets the earpiece down on the desk and shuts down her computer. It is protected with an asymmetrical algorithm, so on the off-chance that her father does know that she's the one who's behind the sabotage of his human trafficking operations, at least Diggle wouldn't be dragged down with her. She goes back out to the living room to find that half her pizza is missing and that her father has helped himself to the contents of her fridge.

_That's a good sign, right? Surely someone who's mad with fury wouldn't be calm enough to eat and savor red wine, would he?_

Noah looks up at her. "Why are you standing there? Have a seat."

She walks over to him slowly and sits down as far away as possible on the couch. He continues to munch away on the pizza (he's on his fifth slice now) and doesn't seem to notice her tension and the stiff set of her shoulders.

When he finally washes down the last bite of crust with his wine, he sets the glass down on the coffee table and turns to look at her. There's a weariness in his gaze that wasn't there earlier.

"I suppose you're wondering what I'm doing here," he begins.

 _Major understatement of the year_ , a voice says snarkily in her head.

She nods once, not giving anything away, but she cannot help the stiff set of her shoulders and the slight tremor of her fingers. She clasps them together in her lap to keep them from shaking and hopes that the tension rolling in waves off her back isn't discernible.

He sighs deeply, scrubbing his face with his palms. "How much do you know about what I do?"

"Not much," she lies. "I know that you're the leader of an organized crime family based here in Starling City and that you may or may not be engaging in illegal activities... Which I don't know about specifically," she adds.

"That's actually a pretty accurate summary, all things considered. What I do is dangerous and I cannot afford to lower my guard for even a second, because doing so will lead to very unfortunate circumstances."

 _Where is he going with this?_ she wonders. It doesn't sound like he's on to her, but where her father is concerned, she's learned not to trust appearances.

"Two days ago, I let my guard down," he continues. There's an undercurrent of fury in his tone that has her tightening her grip on her fingers, the knuckles turning bone white.

 _Oh, frack_. She remembers exactly what went down that day. One of her father's shipments of pure cocaine had been delivered to a warehouse in the Glades. Upon discovering the location, she had sent an anonymous tip to Detective Lance. She wracks her brain, trying to discern how he found out it was her doing. She was particularly careful to wipe any trace of her involvement as always whenever her father's operations are concerned.

"What happened?" she asks in a voice that's barely audible.

"One of my rivals decided to threaten me in my own base of operations."

Felicity nearly sags with relief.  _So he isn't on to me after all!_ She uncurls her fingers but doesn't relax. If he's not here to punish her for sabotaging his operations, he must want something else. "What did he want from you?"

There's nothing but seriousness in his gaze now. "You."

She blinks. " _Me?_ Why? Whoever this rival of yours is...he knows that I'm not involved with the mafia, right?" _Not that any of you are aware of, that is_ , she adds silently to herself. "And if it's me he wants, why didn't he approach me? Why did he go through you?"

"Because," he says bitterly, "Robert _fucking_ Queen wants your hand in marriage."

"Robert Queen? Doesn't he already have a wife? And a very powerful one at that. Everyone knows that you don't mess with Moira Queen and get away with it unscathed. Is she even aware about this? Should I be running? Because, if she is aware about this, she'll be knocking on my door any second now and—"

"It's not he who's getting married," Noah interrupts. "It's his son. And yes, Moira is aware of the match and has agreed."

She frowns at this new piece of information. "His son. Wait. _Oliver Queen_? But according to TMZ, he's already engaged! Well, unless they got their information wrong _again_. Which isn't all that surprising, to be honest."

She notices that her father seems to be waiting for something with bated breath. There's something she's missing.

She thinks back to what he's said... And the other shoe drops. _It's not he who's getting married_. It's a definite, not a probable outcome. She looks back up at her father, feeling like she's been punched in the gut.

"Please, tell me you didn't," she whispers.

A flash of guilt appears on his face.

 _No_.

She feels utterly betrayed. "How could you do this to me? I know that we haven't had the best relationship, what with you always thinking of your organization before anything else and mostly pretending that I don't exist even though we lived under the same roof for over a decade, but I didn't think you'd ever treat me like I'm some sort of object that you can auction off to the highest bidder. Does my choice even mean _anything_ to you?"

Noah scoots over to her on the couch and takes her hands in his. She flinches under his touch. "Of course it matters to me. You're my daughter. I know I haven't been much of a father to you, and I don't even know how to be one, but I do love you. Never question that. It's entirely your choice whether you want to go through with the marriage or not."

"But if I choose not to, I'd be signing your death warrant," she says.

He doesn't have a response to that.

"So in all honesty, I don't _actually_ have a choice," she continues bitterly. 

"Yes, you do. I'll find another way; declare war on the Queens if I have to. Those pricks have it coming anyway."

She looks at her father. "What do _you_ want me to do?"

The answer is written as clear as day in his expression. Tears well up in her eyes, but she refuses to let them spill over.

"Felicity," he says softly, tears filling his eyes as well. "What _I_ want doesn't matter. It's what you decide that matters."

When she doesn't reply after several long moments, he nods and stands, heading for the door.

He's halfway out of the door when she answers. "I'll do it."

Noah pauses, turning back to look at her.

"I'll get married to Oliver Queen."

He nods once, stiffly. "Thank you," he whispers.

When Noah leaves her house a while later, it's with a triumphant smile across his face. He wipes the tears from his eyes. Phase two is complete, and no one even suspected that he was playing them all for fools. Now, all that's left is for the remaining chess pieces to move into place.

* * *

 

"You agreed," Diggle repeats incredulously. "Just like that."

"Yep," Felicity nods.

"This isn't like purchasing a new satellite frequency detector, Felicity. This is _marriage_."

"He was going to wage war with the Queens over me. Even if he manages to catch them unaware, it's still thousands of people with superior weapons against five hundred. I don't need an IQ of 160 to know how that will end. Besides, this is my father we're talking about. He may not have done much parenting, but he's still my father. I couldn't just let him go to his doom; not if my sacrifice means saving his life and that of five hundred."

Diggle shakes his head. "Do you even know what kind of person you are getting married to?"

She frowns at the computer screen as she sifts through all the information she managed to pull up on Oliver Queen. "It says here that he's twenty-eight and the owner of a nightclub called Verdant. Ever been there?"

"No, but—"

"Huh. I never noticed before, but he's kind of easy on the eyes," she says, looking through his pictures on Google. The fact that he's been photographed with many different women doesn't escape her attention.

"And he's a promiscuous son of a bitch," Diggle points out unnecessarily.

"Well, it's not like we're really getting married. I mean we are, but it's more of a marriage in name, not one of substance. I expect that we'll just be there for the ceremony and go back to living our separate lives."

He snorts. "I highly doubt it's that simple. And what if you fall in love?"

She raises an eyebrow at this, turning away from the screen to look at her bodyguard. "With him? He's not at all my type. Look at this—" she gestures at the computer without looking at it. "He's got a D in tenth grade algebra. _D_. When I was growing up, I never imagined that I'd be marrying a playboy mafia prince who owns a nightclub. I always pictured my future husband to be someone like me."

Diggle shakes his head. "Not with him. I meant someone else. Like Ray Palmer, for instance."

She groans. "Not this again, Digg."

"What?" he says innocently. "He's entirely your type. Geeky, socially awkward, crazy about technology and making the world a better place, and may or may not have a thing for you."

"You're forgetting that he's also my boss. An office romance isn't exactly what I had in mind. Besides, I don't see him that way." She turns back to her computer and start's pinging Oliver's cell. She looks up after a moment. "Wait. Did you say socially awkward? What makes you think my type is someone who is socially awkward?"

He clears his throat, suddenly interested in his shoelaces.

She doesn't seem to notice that he hasn't responded, to which he heaves a small sigh of relief. A map of Starling City appears on the screen, a flashing red dot appearing near The Glades. He frowns. "What are you doing?"

"Well, the night is still young." She spins around in her chair and cocks her head at him. "Ready to go dancing?"

* * *

Dressed in a black mini dress with thin straps lacing across an open back, the hem just grazing mid-thigh, Felicity steps out of her red Mini Cooper at the entrance to Verdant.

"Go on in," Diggle says to her from behind the wheel. "I'll find a place to park and join you later."

"Okay."

She looks up at the green Verdant sign above the main entrance before looking at her surroundings casually. The security of the place looks shabbier than she expected.

"You'd think the son of a mafia boss would be more careful when it comes to security measures," she mutters to herself. Shaking her head, she walks right up to the bouncer, who she notices is a foot taller than her, even in her heels.

He barely spares her a glance, gesturing somewhere to her right. "Get in line."

She turns to look at the mile long queue of people waiting to get in and notices the eye rolls which are directed at her by those near the entrance. She looks down at her four inch heels. _Nope_ , she decides. _It's not happening_.

Turning back to him, she says, "My name is Felicity Smoak. I'm the daughter of—"

His reaction is almost comical. He clears his throat, a flash of fear appearing in his eyes before he bows so low that she can see the sparse hair at the top of his head. "—Noah Kuttler," he finishes for her. "My sincerest apologies, Ms Smoak, for not recognizing you."

She bites the inside of her lip to hide a smile. _Looks like being the daughter of a mafia boss does have its perks_. "Don't worry about it."

He steps aside to let her in, much to the annoyance of those in line.

Once inside, she makes a beeline for the bar, hopping onto the first available stool. She raises an eyebrow when she lays eyes on the bartender.

"What can I get you? A tequila sunrise, perhaps?" he says.

"Aren't you a little young to be bar tending?"

He looks affronted. "I'm twenty-four."

"Really."

He snorts. "Why would I lie about my age? Besides, do you really think my boss would hire me if I were still a kid?"

She nods. "Judging by what I've seen so far, yes, I think Mr Queen would. Not that I'm insinuating he's aware that he's actually hiring an underaged boy, of course. It's not difficult to buy a fake ID and create bogus background records that can pass a social security check."

He rolls his eyes. "I assure you, blondie, I am old enough to bar tend."

She doesn't look like she believes him. "Do you serve red wine here? I _love_ red wine."

He shakes his head. "You've got to wait for the server for that."

She looks around. There are no servers in sight. "Looks like I'm getting that tequila sunrise, then."

He smiles. "One tequila sunrise coming right up."

Felicity watches as he gets the ingredients from behind the bar and starts throwing them in a glass. "More tequila, please," she tells him.

"Hoping to get drunk?"

"After the day I've just had? _Definitely_." She casts a look at him, narrowing her eyes. "Don't get any ideas, though. You're just a kid."

He frowns at her. "What?"

When she doesn't respond, he just shrugs, sliding her drink over to her. 

She takes a tentative sip. "This is actually pretty good," she says in amazement.

He rolls his eyes. "Your faith in my mixing abilities is astonishing."

She grins at him before turning around in her chair, her drink in one hand and cellphone in the other, pinging Oliver's GPS again. The blinking red light indicates that he's right outside the club. She looks up from her phone just as he enters the room.

Even from a distance, she notices how his presence seems to fill the entire room. There's no mistaking the authority and confidence he exudes in the way he holds himself. He's a force to be reckoned with, that's for sure.

Taking another sip from her glass, she quietly observes the man from where she sits. His hair is shorter and darker than what she's seen in the many photos of him. The short hair suits him, she decides. His face is all angles and planes, so chiseled that it could have been carved from marble, and his body is so built that it almost rivals Diggle's.

She watches as he makes it a point to smile at every woman he lays his eyes upon, pausing every now and then to dance provocatively with a few of them, leaving nothing to the imagination about what he'd rather be doing instead. The number of times he slips pieces of paper or napkins with digits on them into the pockets of what appears to be a very expensive pair of black pants almost exceeds the number of fingers on both her hands.

Despite the outwardly flirtatious behavior, Felicity can't help but feel like there's something _off_ about it. His smile is _too_ charming and his eyes don't mirror the expressions on his face, almost like they're...dead.

He finally cuts through the crowd of gyrating bodies that stood between him and the stairs that lead to what she assumes is the office. It's near enough to the bar that she can see his smile disappear entirely when he thinks no one's looking at him, almost like he's taking a mask off. His shoulders sag a little, and it's almost as if the time it took between the entering his own club and getting to the stairs drained him. Her eyebrow flicks upward a notch at that. He happens to glance at the bar and pauses, finally noticing her presence.

He narrows his eyes at her, straightens his shoulders and pulls out his phone from his pants pocket, dialing a number. He turns away when he starts speaking into it, his expression furious. After a minute, he cuts a glance back at her before wrapping up the conversation, heading straight for her.

Her eyes widen a fraction when he's close enough that she can really look at him. She is not surprised by the lack of warmth in his gaze—after all, neither one of them are thrilled by the circumstances that put them in this situation. No, what catches her by surprise is the flash of pain she sees in his eyes before they become guarded, masked by cool indifference. He shoos the man sitting in the bar stool next to hers away with the arch of an eyebrow and a cock of his head, settling down smoothly into the newly vacated seat.

"Felicity Smoak," he says in greeting.

"Oliver Queen," she says in response, taking another sip of her drink.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She snorts, setting the glass down on the bar top. "I doubt you're receiving any pleasure at all from me."

His eyes widen in surprise.

Belatedly, she realizes the possible innuendo in that sentence. "And by that, I mean delight at my presence at your club or anywhere in your vicinity, for that matter, and not you receiving pleasure from me in any other way because that would be extremely premature considering that we've just met and don't even like each other in _that_ way. Or any way, to be honest."

He blinks at her.

Flushing slightly at the turn their conversation has taken, she averts her eyes and downs the rest of her drink. "This isn't how I envisioned this conversation going," she mutters to herself.

He lets out a breath of laughter—if it can even be considered a laugh. It is somewhere a snort and an actual laugh, his lips quirking at the corners infinitesimally. It is genuine, as far as she can tell, the reluctant set of his mouth indicating that he didn't intend for it to happen. "That's an understatement."

Her lips curl upward as well. "Let me guess. You were expecting a very unpleasant conversation, maybe even a heated shouting match that draws the attention of more people than either of us want and it ends with you being drenched in tequila?"

His lips twitch. "Not the tequila," he admits. "I suppose I should be glad that you've finished your drink, then."

"Well, you and your very expensive suit can relax. There won't be any tequila throwing tonight. Not from me, at least. If anyone else wants to hurl tequila over that beautiful face of yours, it's out of my hands."

He raises an eyebrow at he slip, but thankfully, doesn't comment.

"Can I buy you another drink?" he asks politely.

She nods. "I can definitely use another one of these."

"Roy," he calls, getting the attention of the young bartender from earlier. "Please get Ms Smoak another tequila sunrise and a scotch, neat for me."

The boy—Roy—nods once and gets right to it. "More tequila again, Blondie?"

She nods.

Oliver takes a long sip of scotch before returning his attention back to her. "So, what brings you to my club, Ms Smoak?"

"I don't know about you, but I wasn't going to wait until the wedding before meeting the groom in person. So, here I am, in your admittedly pretty amazing club, despite the shabby security measures you've put in place."

He arches a brow. "What's wrong with them?"

"Your systems are outdated, for one. Lots of people can break in easily if they have half a mind to do it. Being the son of an extremely powerful man does help to eliminate those who aren't crazy enough to mess with you, but at the same time, it just means that those who still choose to target you anyway probably aren't ones you can easily pick off."

He shrugs, unconcerned. "My systems may be outdated, but my men are very highly trained."

"Highly trained men aren't going to be of much use if they're all trapped in a room because there's a security breach and your club is on lockdown," she points out.

He narrows her eyes at her. "You managed to discern this just by sitting here for all of twenty minutes?"

"Fifteen," she corrects instantly. "And no, I discerned this even before I entered the club."

He doesn't look like he believes her.

She shrugs. "It's just an observation. Do what you will with it."

He knocks back the rest of his drink, keeping his eyes on her the entire time. Her gaze trails down his face to his throat, watching its movement as he swallows. Her eyes dip further to the base of his throat where the collar of his shirt is open, almost teasingly. When her gaze returns to his, his eyebrow is cocked, a knowing look in his eyes, as if he knows exactly what she was thinking about.

She clears her throat, coloring at getting caught staring.

"So, what do you think?" he asks.

She splutters. " _What?_ "

"About what you've seen so far. You did mention that you came here to meet me, after all." He cocks his head at her, lips twitching. "What did you think I was referring to?"

 _Oh, the bastard_. "Nothing," she lies.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Ms Smoak," he says, all traces of teasing gone. "What you see right now is exactly what you're going to get when we are married. Don't expect me to change my behavior for you, and don't expect me to play the role of a husband. Matrimony isn't something I want, and I won't become someone I'm not just because I happen to be stuck in a situation I cannot get out of."

"And I'll be honest with you, Mr Queen. I'm not expecting you to change for me—or at all, for that matter. Entering into matrimony isn't high up on my list of priorities, and if it weren't for my father, I wouldn't be entering into it with you at all." She hops off the barstool, setting the glass onto the bar. "What do I think about what I've seen? Does it matter? We are stuck in this situation and there's no changing the outcome unless either you or I go up against your father. I am not the kind of person that just accepts things. If I'd accepted my life, I'd be following in my father's footsteps instead of being the vice-president of Palmer Technologies. I am prepared to go up against Robert Queen if that's what it takes to get out of this situation we're in, but not at the cost of the lives of five hundred people."

Diggle steps into her line of vision, silently moving to stand beside her. "Are you ready to leave?"

She glances at her bodyguard briefly before returning her gaze to Oliver. "Yes," she replies. "I've gotten what I came here for."

Diggle offers his elbow which she takes. With a last look at her fiancé, she allows him to lead her out of the club.

Fingers clenched tightly into a fist, Oliver squeezes his eyes shut, presses his lips together into a thin line and exhales a breath before turning back to Roy, holding up two fingers. After the day he's had, he can _definitely_ use a drink.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the extremely long time in between posts. Hopefully I'll have more time over the winter break to do more writing. I hope you enjoy this chapter and leave a kudos if you did. I'll see you in the next chapter. :)

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by the Bratva!Oliver fics I've seen around on Tumblr. As always, I hope you enjoy it and I'll see you in the next chapter.


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